CROW (Boston Underworld Book 1) (6 page)

I pull a fat stack of cash from my jacket and toss it into his lap. He moves to get out of the car when I stop him.

“There’s more where that came from.” I nod at the cash.

“What do you need?” he asks.

“Information.”

He takes out a notepad and pen from his pocket and stares at me. “On?”

My focus turns out the window and I tap my fingers against the steering wheel.

“Mackenzie Wilder.”

Chapter Five

Mackenzie

I
spend every one of the next six days jotting down notes about Lachlan and his crew and practicing my dance moves. Between taking lessons and Scarlett teaching me, I’ve picked up a few good tricks that I know I can pull off well. It isn’t really the tricks I’m worried about. Scarlett used to dance in clubs like this one, albeit far less classy, and she filled me in on the dirty details.

I don’t know how things work at Slainte, but I know being an exotic dancer isn’t easy. It’s not all about grinding on a pole and shaking your ass. You have to hustle, and you need to have unflappable confidence. Some men are going to treat you like shit. They’re going to tell you to piss off because your tits are too small or your ass is too big and you’re not their type, or they might get all grabby and feel entitled to it. It can go either way really. Plus, add alcohol into the mix, and you just know there are going to be problems. Some places have rooms in the back where other stuff goes on if the client is willing to shell out. I’m hoping to hell that Slainte isn’t one of them. Regardless, I won’t be partaking in that.

From everything I’ve learned about the club, it seems a lot more upscale than most. But that doesn’t mean anything, really. It could just look nice and presentable on the outside. I won’t know until I’m in the midst of it what I’m getting myself into exactly. Still, I’m convinced I can pull this off even if I’ve never actually worked as an exotic dancer. I just need to be sexy and unique and give these guys a reason to let me stick around for a while.

Easier said than done, considering I’ve never really had a boyfriend. But what I do have is a body that I’ve worked my ass off for and my God-given looks. Men go ape shit over my blue eyes and black hair. Toss in some leather and lace and they think they’ve got a little hellcat on their hands.

If only they knew the real me.

I take a deep breath and give myself one last glance in the mirror. Everything is in place. It’s taken every last ounce of my patience to wait these six days before walking into the club. But I knew it was important. I don’t want to come off too strong, but I definitely need to up my game. I have no doubts my plan is going to work. It isn’t because of my unwavering confidence. It’s because it’s the only option I’ve got left.

The tight black leather jacket and spandex mini skirt can only help my cause. Beneath lies more leather in the form of a strappy black bra and thong. Fishnet thigh highs and a smoky eye complete the look. No question about it, I have no intention of fighting fair tonight.

Giving my hair one last smoothing over, I grab my keys and purse and head out to the curb. Ready or not boys, here I come.

***

By the time I make it to Slainte, it’s just after 1:30 am. Enough time for me to grab a drink and catch me an Irishman. Here’s how I think it’s going to go. One of the soldiers will recognize me from the fights. He’ll come over and offer to buy me a drink. He’ll mention said fight, and I’ll remark how hard up I am for cash and how I really need a job. And, oh, by the way I’m an exotic dancer.

The lightbulb will click, and the next thing you know, he’s telling me he can help me out. I’ll flirt and be eternally grateful, and boom… I’m in.

This plan has a lot of variables, I know. But it’s all I’ve got left since Lachlan’s rejection last week. Ultimately, I need his approval to get a job here. That’s the part I’m not too confident on.

The bouncer stops me at the door and gives me the customary once over before deeming me socially acceptable to grace their fine establishment. Once I’m in, I feel a weight off my chest. I’ve never been inside of Slainte, but it isn’t quite what I imagined.

The entire front bar is decked out in opulent oaks and mahoganies. The walls are a rich crimson red, and the floors polished hardwood. The scent of beer and liquor permeates the air, teasing the patrons with the promise of everything one could want during a cool Boston Autumn. It’s warm and homey, inviting even. But then again, I suspect that’s probably how Niall wants it to look. While there isn’t exactly a sign on the door broadcasting Niall’s affiliation with the place, it’s a well-known fact he owns the joint. Which means the people who frequent this establishment are either one of two things. Business associates, or those too naïve to know any better. A quick glance around confirms my suspicion that it’s mostly the latter in here tonight.

With a sigh, I walk straight to the bar and take a seat. It’s not like I expected the whole crew to be sitting up here in the open, just waiting for someone like me to come along and eavesdrop. It still would have been nice though. I flag down the bartender and order up a Patron on the rocks with salt and lime.

It goes down smoothly and warms my belly, steeling me with the courage I’ll need to see me through tonight. I swivel around in my seat and scan my surroundings. The front of the building houses a very cozy and inoffensive looking little pub. This is where the unwitting civilians imbibe and take part in the Irish hospitality. Downstairs and in the back, however, is another story.

From all outward appearances, this place is legit. And while I’m sure it does well enough on its own, I have to wonder exactly what other kind of criminal activity they’re fronting here. It’s a well-known fact that the Irish deal in guns and run some underground gambling establishments. But it’s their association with the Russians, or more specifically, Talia’s Russian, that I’m worried about. I need to know if they traffic in women. How many of these young college girls are at risk of disappearing after they visit this place?

There’s only one way to find out, and that involves getting into the back of the building. The one that’s closed off by dark walls and a pair of velvet curtains with a burly bouncer standing guard. That’s where the exotic dancing takes place, and unlike other clubs, it’s VIP and invitation only. That was where Talia worked, but she wasn’t a dancer. She swore up and down she was just a cocktail waitress, but I had a bad feeling about it all along. When I told her my concerns, she brushed them off and said the guys she worked for were great.

One thing is for certain, they’re great at hiding what goes on here. When I filed her missing person’s report, they didn’t even have Talia on file as an employee. Supposedly there isn’t any sort of a camera security system either, which I thought was shady as hell and made a point to say so. But everything else appeared on the up and up, and the police quickly washed their hands of it.

I don’t know if Talia is still alive. A very large part of me fears she isn’t. It’s been a year already. A year of exhausting every other option. I knew coming into this that it might be a one-way ticket to hell. But I can’t let it go. Talia doesn’t deserve to be treated like another statistic and I won’t stop until I find out what happened to her. If nothing else, I will give her the final resting place she deserves and make those responsible pay. These assholes think they can take vulnerable women and nobody will give a shit. But I’m here to show them just how wrong they are.

The bartender brings me another glass of Patron, and I open my wallet to pay when he shakes his head.

“On the house.”

Shit. I’ve been made already. Just as I’m about to glance around to see who it is, I feel his body heat behind me. I don’t even have to look to know it’s him. His scent hangs in the air between us. Cedarwood, sweet limes, and the leather from his jacket. The same scent that lingered in the warehouse
between us last week.

“
Butterfly
.” His breath skates over my ear in a threatening whisper. “Fancy seeing you here. Stalking me, are ye?”

Pfft. Get a load of this guy. Stalking him? He frigging wishes. I turn around on my stool and come face to face with the devil himself. He’s a lot closer than I realized, and my leg brushes his when I come to a stop. He’s looking at me like he can’t believe it’s really me, sitting in his club. That’s a good thing, I hope.

“If I’m the butterfly,” I say sweetly. “What does that make you?”

“That depends.” He leans a little closer, inky darkness eclipsing the gray of his eyes. “What do you think I am?”

“How about we just call a spade a spade?” I flash him a smile. “Or in this case, a Crow a Crow.”

The threat in his gaze turns to something else entirely as he presses his hands against the bar and boxes me in with his arms. “How do ye know that name?”

“Oh, puh-lease. Everybody in Boston knows the notorious Crows. This little club you’re running is a hot bed of criminal activity. For the… what’s it called?” I tap my finger against my lips. “Oh yeah, that’s right… the MacKenna Syndicate.”

Before I can even really enjoy the effect my taunting has had on him, he’s grabbed me by the arm and yanked me off the stool. I’m dragged down a dark hallway and into an office before I’m roughly shoved against the wall.

Without pretense, he starts groping around my body for a wire. His hands aren’t at all gentle, and I flush unexpectedly when his palms move over my breasts. Scorching heat ripples along every inch of me he brazenly roams. I definitely don’t like it, but I’m responding nonetheless. Until he yanks up my skirt and kicks my legs apart, cupping me through my thong.

“Jesus,” I mutter. “You aren’t going to find one in there if that’s what you’re thinking.”

His attention dips to the pulse that’s now jumping in my throat and his jaw sets as his eyes flick to mine. He’s searching for something entirely different here, trying to pry my secrets out of me. My breaths are coming too quick, and he notices that too. He still hasn’t released me. His palm is between my legs, the heat beneath it only growing with every passing moment. The most vulnerable part of me that no man has ever touched, and yet he feels the right to. It isn’t sexual to him. His eyes are clouded with suspicion and anger and he’s waiting for me to tell him to stop. To get off of me. That’s what he wants, and I won’t give him the satisfaction.

“Who the feck’re you?” he finally pulls away, and I take a deep breath. His accent definitely gets thicker when he’s pissy, and it makes me smile for some odd reason.

“You already know,” I drawl in a sugary voice. “Mack Wilder. Pleased to meet you, Mr. Crow. Officially.”

He takes a step back and eyes me off like he isn’t quite sure what to make of me. I’ve thrown him for a loop, and I like it. I use the opportunity to do the same. He’s looking sharp tonight in his black leather jacket and low-slung jeans. Everything about him is dark, powerful, mysterious. His aura exudes an armor that I doubt many can penetrate. It almost makes me feel strangely attracted to his dangerous persona. Almost.

I’m not completely insane.

“Ye’ve got exactly five seconds to tell me what the hell ye’re doing in my club,” he deadpans. “Before you’ll wish ye never set foot in here.”

Again, I smile at him. I have no doubt he’s packing heat and even less doubt he’d hesitate to ditch me in a dumpster somewhere. In fact, he’s looking at me right now like it’s exactly what he’s considering. But I have nothing to lose anymore, and I want to see how far I can push him. So what do I do?

I brazenly use four of those five seconds to take a seat in one of his nice leather chairs and cross my legs. My skirt hitches up my thigh, and his eyes don’t even move from mine.

Huh. Well that doesn’t inspire confidence. Still, I forge on anyway.

“I want a job,” I tell him. “I heard you had an opening for a dancer.”

What happens next shocks the hell out of me. He actually laughs. A real, full on, thunderous belly laugh. For a guy who wanted to kill me two seconds ago, he’s switching gears faster than I can keep up.

“Ah Jaysus, sweetheart…” His eyes are watering he’s laughing so hard now. “Ye’re kind of cute. Dead gorgeous in fact. But ye already know I’m not going to give you a job.”

I cross my arms and glare. “And why the hell not?”

“Ah, I don’t know.” The amusement drains from his face as he leans down and looks me dead in the eyes. “Maybe because I don’t fecking trust you.”

“And how much do you need to trust me to watch me shake my ass on stage every night?” I argue.

“A lot more than ye might expect.”

My eyes roam over his unrelenting expression, and a little piece of my hope shatters. Shit. He’s one hundred percent serious. This guy is a lot harder to crack than I anticipated. Why did it have to be him that saw me tonight? Why couldn’t it be one of the idiots that couldn’t stop staring at my tits last week?

“Just let me audition,” I press. “Then you can decide.”

I’m certain he’s going to shut it down right away, but then an oddly familiar tune blasts over the speakers, interrupting us. It’s incredibly loud in this part of the building, and incredibly Irish.